


The Word is stronger than the Sword

by SPX_Special



Category: Warhammer Fantasy
Genre: Gen, Skaven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:14:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24767536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SPX_Special/pseuds/SPX_Special
Summary: A poor, prisoner Son of the Horned Rat has an opportunity to save his life...
Kudos: 7





	The Word is stronger than the Sword

_To Mennina, with best wishes,_

_Bussy-Saint-Georges, 2020-06-14_

Ajeet was trembling like a leaf. He felt tears coming to his eyes.

It was particularly dark. As a Skaven, the ratmen of the Under-Empire, he had eyes which normally could see in the low light, but this time, it was too dark, even for his Skaven eyes.

Like all of his kindred, Ajeet had the features of a humanoid rat, with large, slightly pointed ears, long incisors, a long tail constituted of flesh rings, small claws at the tips of his fingers and toes. The coat covering his body was short, thick, and its colour was black like coal.

He was locked in a large room with a low ceiling, the floor of which was upholstered with a thick layer of sand. Rolled into a ball on the ground, his head buried under his crossed arms, he was crying in silence.

Thirty Sons of the Horned Rat were held in this prison. All naked and hungry. They had lost track of time. How long had they been there? Two days? Three weeks? They had no way of knowing. The air was more and more difficult to breathe. First, because of the sand, each movement of each prisoner raised a cloud of fine particles, which quickly irritated the nose, lips and eyes. Then there was the heat. So many bodies piled up against each other drastically raised the temperature. And then there was the smell. The scent of terror that emanated from the musk glands of the Skaven, especially the younger ones. The smell of blood oozing from wounds caused by mood swings. And if the Skaven hadn’t eaten anything in a long time, they still needed to answer to the call of nature.

Ajeet was desperately trying to forget about it. He could no longer make the difference between a huge fear of losing his life in the next few hours or a desire to live transformed into an obsession. He then heard a voice sing not far from him. He looked up, opened his eyes… he wasn’t dreaming at all. A Son of the Horned Rat was sitting on the sand, calmly humming a short song, as if he was not aware of the danger.

Feeling observed, the Skaven fell silent, and turned his muzzle towards Ajeet. He looked rather old, maybe ten seasons. Some tonsures punctured his ochre fur in places.

\- We are condemned-doomed, murmured the strange Skaven. Might as well accept our fate fully-with dignity. The Horned Rat will be lenient.

\- How... how can you keep calm?

\- I told you: I accept my fate.

Another Skaven squeaked. Ajeet knew him, he was a Clanrat named Ligger. Ligger was known to be particularly whiny.

\- We shouldn’t have! Why-how did they win? We are real Sons of the Horned Rat!

\- They are too, but more numerous-stronger, replied the mature Skaven.

\- We are their prisoners! It’s not fair! And now they’re all going to kill-devour us! It’s not fair!

\- That’s our laws.

Fascinated by the calm of the stranger, Ajeet murmured:

\- I’ve never seen you before. Who are you?

\- You’re still young, and just a Clanrat. Not seen the depths of the Clan Moulder’s burrow in our colony.

\- You belong Clan Moulder?

\- My name is Hambar.

\- I am Ajeet. I thought all Moulders had mutations?

\- Only the Master Mutators. Me, simple Packmaster. The Horned Rat gave me a beautiful body that works very well on its own.

Ligger fidgeted again.

\- They’re going to make us outcasts! Cut off our ear! Slaves-slaves!

\- No, muttered the mature Skaven gravely. They would have already done it. They want to see who will be the best at becoming Clanrats for them.

\- How do you know that? Ajeet asked.

\- My Pawleader told me. He once escaped the Clan Mors.

\- And... how do they do? stammered Ligger.

The Packmaster turned to the frightened young Skaven.

\- Forcing-obliging us to fight among ourselves. The best will be the winners. The others will be meals.

Ligger groaned again. A low rumble shook the room, which was flooded with light. A heavy wooden door opened.

Ajeet distinguished in the opening an immense black silhouette. A very deep voice sounded.

\- Listen-listen, prisoners-defeated! The Great Warlord Ketter of Clan Mors, great-handsome-generous, gives you a chance! Get out all!

Nobody moved. The voice ordered louder:

\- Now!

Ligger started with a squeak, and hastened to obey, quickly imitated by the others. Ajeet hesitated. He felt Hambar’s hand on his back.

\- If you don’t go out, he’ll come get you.

The ochre Skaven smiled benevolently.

\- The Horned Rat wants to test us. Let us do him honour.

Ajeet swallowed, but obediently followed the Moulder. When he walked in the door, it took a few seconds for his eyes to see clearly. They were in an arena whose circumference was to be three hundred yards. On the ground, sand stained with dark spots whose origin was not difficult to guess. The walls were fifteen feet high.

Near the door stood the one who had spoken. It was a huge and terrifying Black Skaven. But unlike everyone Ajeet had unfortunately met, this one didn’t seem particularly aggressive or contemptuous. He was holding a huge wooden hammer on his shoulder. The young anthracite Skaven noticed another disturbing detail: this Stormvermin had the right ear cut off. He was about to pass in front of him to join his comrades, when he felt the hand of the Mighty One on his arm.

\- Wait-wait!

Ajeet felt his heart stop. The touch of the Stormvermin fingers was not unpleasant or violent, but the expression on the face of the black-furred big brute disturbed him most.

\- You remind me someone-someone, whispered the Black Skaven. Haven’t I seen you before?

The young coal-dark Skaven dared not answer, his lips sealed with terror. He just managed to shake his head frantically.

\- Forget it, muttered the bass voice of the Mighty one.

He enjoined him to join the others with a little pat on his back. After that, he closed the cell door, and left the arena by climbing on the wall.

The Skaven gang gathered in the arena. Ajeet looked up, and could see the whole disaster hovering over him. Hundreds of Skaven sitting in the stands laughed and booed at the prisoners. Right in front of the door, there was a grandstand. Three particularly notable Sons of the Horned Rat were installed there: in the middle, a large Black Skaven equipped with a richly decorated, partially torn cape, probably stolen from an army men-things commander. His face was scarred. To his left, a rather stocky brown Skaven with a sort of round helmet screwed on his head equipped with various tools. To his right, the hooded figure of a Skaven, whose tip of the muzzle was covered with dark grey fur.

The great Black Skaven got up, and waved his hand. All the seated Skaven fell silent.

\- Prisoners-defeated, this is your chance. I, Ketter of Clan Mors, am someone merciful-generous. You are going to show me what you are worth. When I tell you, you will fight among yourselves.

The prisoners looked at each other, dazed, incredulous, and frightened. The Warlord continued:

\- You are thirty. The top five will be selected-accepted as Clanrats. The next ten can serve Clan Mors as slaves-slaves. Everyone else will feed the winners tonight. Fight now!

Nobody moved. The Black Skaven got angry.

\- Kill-kill each other, or else I order my Clanrats kill you all!

Immediately, one of the Clanrats threw himself on Ligger, and drowned him under a shower of punches. The sound of the blows of the knuckles beating on the flesh, the squealing of the fearful Skaven, the rage screeches of his assailant, and quickly the smell of blood, awakened the prisoners’ survival instincts. Barely a few seconds later, it was the free-for-all, to the delight of spectators.

Ajeet didn’t think. When he saw Hambar’s back, himself avoiding the clumsy strikes of a little Clanrat, the young anthracite Skaven leaped on the Packmaster and bit his neck with all his might. The mature Skaven creaked in pain, tried to push his assailant away, but Ajeet cut his artery, and the blood gushed. Hambar collapsed softly in the sand. The young Clanrat immediately abandoned him to attack another Skaven, very large, but already assaulted by three other smaller ones.

Fury replaced fear. Ajeet didn’t have time to be surprised by himself. Rather, he deliberately locked his mind to avoid losing an ounce of focus. There he was, hitting, scratching, biting, tearing… All around him was nothing but yelping, shouting, blood… he unleashed a fury and violence of which he had never thought himself capable.

So much so that, in the gallery, the hooded Skaven leaned towards the Warlord.

\- O great-magnificent Warlord Ketter, the show is worthy of the Horned Rat!

\- Indeed-indeed, Daukar.

\- Have you seen this Clanrat who has just throated the big one with his teeth?

\- I see him. So what?

\- I see a winner. And a specialist in the making.

The tall Black Skaven grumbled.

\- Too small-skinny, he is not a Black Skaven!

\- Of course he’s not, mighty-huge Ketter, never-never I would have said such a thing! But I think he could be useful to Clan Eshin. And so to Clan Mors!

\- Hum…

Ketter of Clan Mors scratched his nose, then pouted. That was enough for Daukar. The Nightleader made a huge jump over the barrier, and landed softly on the sand of the arena.

Ajeet couldn’t get over it. Luckily, or perhaps because he was the most cunning, the most agile, in a word the best, he had taken no too severe blow, had always managed to avoid the treacherous attacks, and all the Skaven on which he had thrown had quickly fallen. There remained only three Sons of the Horned Rat still standing, and he was the least injured of them.

He had won. He was about to get out of it.

Suddenly, a shadow fell just in front of him and straightened up. It was the hooded Skaven. Motionless, straightened to his full height, he slowly raised his head. Ajeet noticed a malicious shine under the fabric.

\- The three of you fought well. You will be able to become our Clanrats. Or maybe…

The dark grey Skaven took a step toward Ajeet. The latter, instinctively, perceived a trick. He raised his hands, claws out, and hissed.

\- No need, Clanrat. You have proven yourself. However, you’d better be careful. Someone could backstab you.

The hooded Skaven raised his tail, the end of which was wrapped around the handle of a dagger. He threw it in a flash. The blade flew through the air and got stuck in something behind Ajeet. By reflex, the young coal black Skaven turned on his heels. But contrary to his expectations, the dagger was not planted in the belly of a Skaven who had wanted to attack him from behind, but in the sand.

Ajeet didn’t have time to think. A sharp prick pain radiated from the back of his neck, and he felt uncontrollably dizzy. He still heard the voice of the hooded Skaven whisper:

\- I didn’t say _who_.

Before falling into the darkness of unconsciousness.

*

Ajeet woke up with a start. Unpleasant pain gripped his neck. He put his hands to his throat, reflexively, and felt an iron chain necklace under his fingers.

\- Ah, it’s about time!

The young Skaven got up, and looked frantically all around him. He was in a small room buried directly into the rock, lit by strange globes that emitted a supernatural light. He looked down, and noticed the heavy chain that connected the necklace to a ring embedded in the ground. And, of course, he was still naked. But he didn’t have time to be indignant when his gaze fell on the origin of the voice.

Before him stood the dark grey Skaven that had poisoned him. His hood, still lowered, didn’t allow his face to be clearly distinguished, but the sparkle of his yellow eyes that twinkled under the shade of the fabric made the poor little rat man shiver again.

\- Who are you? hissed a cavernous voice.

\- I… I am… Ajeet! A Clanrat! A Son of the Horned Rat!

\- Right, Ajeet the Clanrat. Look at this side.

The hooded figure stretched out his arm. Ajeet remained motionless.

\- I told you to look-look, Ajeet.

\- No! If I look-look, you can attack me!

\- As I did. This is at least one lesson you have learned well-integrated. Very good.

The dark grey Skaven then took a few slow steps towards the direction he had indicated. Ajeet was able to see what there was to see without taking his eyes off him. The mysterious interlocutor stopped near a table on which lay a whole set of equipment: dozens of vials, a stove, boxes containing powders, sheets of parchment, a wooden board, and a small knife.

\- I’m Daukar, Nightleader of Clan Eshin. You know how to fight. Not very strong, but very agile-fast. Your hair is dark, your eye is sharp. You could become a common Clanrat, but the Horned Rat whispers to me it would be a waste-waste. No, you look more like you were made to serve the Eshin Clan. The only thing wrong is your musk glands, but it can work out.

Daukar of Clan Eshin gestured to the table.

\- Here, you have all the ingredients to compose-concoct a violent-deadly poison. Be careful, you shouldn’t mix everything up anyhow. Only a few elements, a few doses and a few treatments. I won’t tell you anything. Listen-listen to your instinct. If the Horned Rat agrees, he’ll tell you the right thing to do.

Eshin stepped back to the door.

\- I’ll come back later. If you’ve made the right mix for me, I’ll bring you to our den. I’ll take your musk glands off you, and you’ll become a real Eshin. But if you miss, you’re useless. And your life ends immediately.

Without adding a word, Daukar walked through the door and locked it behind him.

Ajeet almost wanted to laugh, to avoid crying. Why lock the door? He couldn’t even reach it! With a heavy heart, he stood in front of the work table. He looked at all the ingredients, the tools… Nothing came. Not the smallest idea, not the slightest inspiration!

_The Horned Rat abandoned me-abandoned me! Why did he make me win the fight if it was for this Eshin to gut me?_

Panicked, he still wanted to try something. He remembered that fear could be a powerful engine. He uncorked a bottle at random, sniffed the neck… no odour. He did the same with a second, and had to quickly back away. The potion smelled very bad, and made his head spin.

Suddenly he had a crazy idea. Maybe the Nightleader had lied? What if the real test was not chemistry, but wits? He rushed to the ring to which the chain was attached, and emptied the contents of the bottle onto it. Unfortunately, contrary to his hopes, the mixture was not acidic enough to dissolve the iron. Desperate, he repeated the operation with four other bottles, but was not more successful.

He rolled to the ground and burst into sobs. This time, it was over with him. He’d probably already wasted some of the good ingredients, and anyway, he hadn’t any idea of formula. Was the test perhaps a fight to the death versus Daukar? With what? That miserable tiny knife? The other one would kill him in a single movement!

_Fly off… If I have to die-die, it won’t be until I have experienced pleasure one last time!_

Determined to meet his god very soon, he got up, took the small knife, and cut the wooden board. He pulled out a splinter long enough to be held between his thumb and his forefinger. He spotted the larger bottle, and emptied it into a corner. After that, he chose the three darkest liquids, and mixed them in the empty bottle. He waited a few moments, sniffed cautiously… no bad odour. If he accidentally created poison, it wasn’t dangerous to breathe.

He firmly applied a sheet of parchment on the table, dipped the splinter in the blackish liquid, closed his eyes, and let his hand come and go.

After a long time, the door opened. Ajeet started. His resolution, the acceptance of his fate, all shattered in panic when he saw the disturbing figure of Daukar.

\- So, Ajeet… What have you done for us?

The Nightleader turned his head towards the work plan. It only took a second to see which ingredients the prisoner had used, and therefore that he had not applied the correct formula.

\- Nothing for Clan Eshin. Too bad for you.

Ajeet felt his heart stop. He leaps as far as possible from the entrance, still restrained by his chain. He curled up near the wall with terrified sobs.

\- No-no! Please!

Daukar took a step forward, then a second. He walked slowly, and lifted his cloak. Under the fabric, several daggers of all sizes shone on his belt. Ajeet shouted and pulled with all his might on the iron mesh. In vain.

Daukar was just a few steps away from his target. He lowered his hand to grab one of his blades, when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. He paused, stopped, and turned his head to the table. Without paying attention to the hysterical squeaks of the young coal black Skaven, he approached the table. He looked at the parchment, and narrowed his eyes. There was a certain logic in this succession of lines, points and figures.

Ajeet became aware of Daukar’s thinking state. The stupor replaced the terror. He didn’t speak again, and a lead silence fell on the cell.

The Eshin studied the drawing carefully, and hissed:

\- What is that?

\- This is the map of the fortress of men-things called Kleinschloppen! Visited-spied on just before our capture, to invade it!

\- You were just a little group of Skaven. Your colony leader was a moron if he hoped to take Kleinschloppen with so few Skaven.

\- Found weak points! Room of chief of men-things! Defects in protections, too-too!

Daukar took a closer look at the plan. Ajeet didn’t dare to move or even breathe. He knew that the slightest gesture could be the last. Finally, the Eshin raised the muzzle.

\- How-why did you draw this map?

\- I… When I’m afraid, I need to draw. My brain is refocusing. That’s all I can do, Daukar! Not a great warrior, not an Eshin, not a Moulder! Just a Son of the Horned Rat who goes to see how the hideouts of men-things are made and who draws everything he sees! And then… I like to draw. I would love to know how to write!

\- Clanrats and slaves are not allowed to! spat Daukar.

\- I know-know, O mighty-magnificent Daukar! But… I would love it so much!

Once again, the young dark grey Skaven cried on the ground. Eshin raised his hand.

\- Calm down. Tell me, are you sure this map is right-correct?

\- Let the Horned Rat strike me down right away if this plan is wrong!

Ajeet swallowed. His sweaty coat itched furiously. Daukar carefully rolled up the map, kept it in hand, and got ready to leave the cell. He will still whisper:

\- Wait here, and don’t try anything stupid-futile.

The door closed, the key turned back into the cell. Ajeet rushed to a corner of the room, crouched, and finally allowed himself to relax the muscles that contracted his bladder and guts.

*

Once again, Ajeet had lost track of time. Regularly, someone threw a piece of raw meat at him through the door, but he was unable to say how many days he remained locked up. Until the door opened fully on Daukar of Clan Eshin. At his sight, the young anthracite Skaven jumped up.

\- Well, Ajeet, it looks like the Horned Rat decided to surprise me.

\- Wh… wh… what?

The Nightleader stepped forward.

\- I showed your map to Warlord Ketter of Clan Mors. He ordered an attack. This morning, men-things capitulated-capitulated. Clan Eshin brought down Kleinschloppen. They were all lost-condemned from the start. However… thanks to your drawing, this invasion was much easier. I won a lot of warpstone. Several young Clanrats want to become Eshin… but only one seems to me sufficiently deserving-useful.

Daukar was now right in front of the young anthracite Skaven. With a quick gesture, he inserted a key into the small lock that held the necklace. The iron shackle fell to the ground. Ajeet couldn’t get over it. His blood was beating so hard in his temples that he barely heard Daukar’s voice.

\- One day, I read something on a thing-man priest parchment, Ajeet. Something about you illustrates very well: “The word is stronger than the sword”. I believe this phrase means that slander-manipulation can wreak more havoc than a blade stuck in a throat. But for you…

Daukar let a heavy silence hover for a few seconds, to revel in the scent of fear of the young ratman. Once his initiation over, he would be submitted to the same treatment the little Skaven given to Clan Eshin: his musk glands would be burnt. Daukar thus appropriated something that no one else would ever enjoy. Finally, he whispered:

\- It will be your strength, Ajeet: you will be trained to handle weapons, but you will more-more increase your talents in writing. Thus, Clan Eshin will have a precious asset.

The young coal black Skaven threw himself on the ground, flattened at the feet of the Nightleader, and burst into sobs of relief.

\- Thank you-thank you, O mighty-handsome Daukar! May the Horned Rat send you thousand times thousand blessings!

For the first time since he had seen his new disciple in the arena, Daukar lifted the commissures, and held his lips out in an icy smile.

\- Prove me you’re one of them.


End file.
